


life is like a song

by servantofclio



Series: Sewers to Stars [12]
Category: Mass Effect, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Overthinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-25 23:56:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3829585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/servantofclio/pseuds/servantofclio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of some recent realizations, Donnie and April have some talking to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	life is like a song

**Author's Note:**

> Follows immediately after my story "Wake," and refers to events from that story. The title comes from the song "At Last," and was suggested by theherocomplex.

Donnie’s had three days to think things over. Three days, three kisses. In that time, he’s trained, gone on patrol three times, gotten a solid eighteen hours of sleep, ended up in one aggravating and pointless fight with Raph, and spent most of his free time trawling through Shepard’s files. Everyone is still a little subdued, but things are beginning to return to normal around the lair. Donnie regrets it a little—it seems as though things shouldn’t be normal, not yet, not with the fact of Shepard’s death still hanging over them. Donnie’s even had the occasional guilty wish for some kind of crisis to give them all something else to think about. 

But no handy catastrophe has developed, so he’s had plenty of time to think about what April said before she left, and what she did. 

Three kisses. 

He promised April not to freak out, and he’s not going to. He’s _not_. Thinking things over isn’t the same as freaking out. Thinking things over, turning over the details in his mind, trying to recall the flickers of expression, the way she looked at him, her eyes clear and limpid and true. Trying to find an explanation that fit. 

The simplest explanation—the one he _wants_ , with a fervor that’s caught him off guard—is as simple as what April said. She said it so casually, though: _you’re so important to me, and I love you so much, so..._ Simply, casually, tossed into the stream of conversation, a passing remark. It seems like a statement like that should have been more momentous, somehow, should have had a fanfare or fireworks or, at least, something more to mark the moment than staring at each other in the kitchen and the noise of video games in the next room. 

And he wants it enough that he doesn’t quite trust it. Oh, it’s not that he doesn’t trust April. It’s more that he doesn’t trust himself. Donnie had thought he’d licked this thing long ago, beat it back down to someplace small and quiet inside him, where it wouldn’t trouble him, or April, again. It doesn’t take much for all the old adolescent longing to come rushing back, and it wouldn’t be the first time he’s done something stupid because he wanted so badly. So he’s got to be careful. Careful of his observations, careful his feelings aren’t influencing his perceptions. 

There are only so many ways to interpret a person kissing you in the kitchen, leaning into you as if she can’t get close enough, part of him says, but it might be the longing talking. 

After all, people do funny things, sometimes, when they’re grieving. They might make mistakes, behave erratically, act on impulse. People’s brain chemistry can get out of whack, and the intensity of the grieving experience can produce odd attempts to bond. 

No, he _hasn’t_ been reading psychological literature in the last three days. Much. He can simply wait, and talk to April. 

He just needs to be prepared, still, for anything. 

# 

April has plans. 

If she were Leo or Donnie, she might have more detailed plans, with the nuts and bolts worked out. “If he does A, then I do B.” As it is, her plans are a little more vague. Her and Donnie, alone at her place. Dinner. Talk it out. See what happens. She’s good with improvising. Plus, her shuttle from the Citadel arrived in New York at 4 am, so it was a good thing she’d taken the extra day off, because she staggered home and went to sleep for seven hours. That left her only a few hours to tidy up her apartment, small as it is, and... there’s the scrape of the window, so Donnie’s here. 

He’s standing by the window when April comes into the living room, looking far more hesitant than he ought to, like he’s not an invited guest. April plants her hands on her hips and says, “I told you not to freak out.” 

“I didn’t!” Donnie protests. “I’m not.” 

April tilts her head and gives him a long stare. Donnie ducks his head in response, offering a slightly sheepish smile. “How was your trip?” 

April sighs, but she’ll allow the redirection. “It was fine. Shuttle ride was okay, service was... well, you watched it, right?” She takes a few steps across the room and sits on the small couch, pointedly leaving enough room for Donnie to sit next to her. 

“I did.” He only hesitates a moment before joining her, much to her relief. She’s holding herself back from probing what he’s thinking. Now, above all, she doesn’t want to go rooting around inside his head. She _tries_ to respect people’s privacy, she really does, but sometimes their feelings shout at her, and there’s only so much she can do then. Tonight, she can tell without even trying that his mind is much more guarded than she’d like. “We all did,” he adds. “Well, Raph lasted about five minutes before stomping off.” 

“The first speech was the best anyway,” April says. “I left her flowers from us, and... well, there was some other stuff, but we should talk about that later.” 

“What stuff?” Donnie asks, perking up a little bit. 

April shakes her head. “Nothing that won’t keep another day, I don’t think. I’ll come over tomorrow and tell it once to everyone, and we can go from there.” 

Donnie frowns. “We really could do that tonight—” 

April interrupts. “No. Because tonight I want to talk to _you_.” She leans forward so she can tap him in the middle of the plastron. “I’ve put that off long enough.” 

“Put it off,” he says, not quite a question, but April nods anyway. 

“Yeah,” she says, and leans in further, aiming for a kiss. 

But Donnie scrunches back, somehow, and puts up a hand. “Wait. April, just... wait a minute.” 

She tries to quell the disappointment, and the little edge of fear that says she’s about to be rejected, that him kissing her back was just about that night, about the beer, about an old crush he’s not feeling any more. “Too much?” she says, trying to keep it light. “Too fast?” 

“You said you wanted to talk,” Donnie says. 

“That’s right, I did,” April admits. 

“So, I... um...” His forehead furrows, and his eyes crinkle, his mouth curling down. April’s trying to be patient, but watching him search for words is a little painful. 

She’s already held back too long, and she lets it slip out. “If you didn’t like the kissing, you can just tell me.” 

“What? No! That’s not, that’s not it at all.” He tenses, on the verge of jumping off the couch and pacing, probably. “I,” he says, and she can almost see him choosing each word with precision, like a lawyer, or one of those times he’s trying to explain something complex in simple enough terms for everyone else. “I don’t want you to do something you might regret later.” 

April snorts, barely keeping herself from a full-blown ugly laugh. Like she doesn’t have regrets about _not_ doing something already. 

Donnie blinks at her, but earnestly keeps going. “I mean... grief can do funny things to people, we’re all in a tough spot, and... people act impulsively, sometimes, and your judgment might have been affected, so—” 

April stares at him, and for a split second thinks that she loves him more than she’s ever loved anything or anyone. He’s so careful of her, even now, so worried not to presume, so anxious not to take advantage. 

Then she punches him in the arm. 

“Hey!” Donnie protests, more indignant than hurt. 

“Do you have any idea how insulting that sounds?” April demands. “How incredibly condescending?” His eyes are getting wider and wider, but she keeps going, because she needs to drive this one home. “Do you really think I’m so addled with grief that I don’t know my own mind?” 

“Well, I—” 

“Do you think I need to be drunk or out of my mind to want you?” April says, working up a good head of steam now. “Isn’t it a more _logical_ conclusion that I kissed you because I wanted to?” 

He’s still wide-eyed and blinking at her, and she can’t read at all what he’s thinking or feeling, which is simultaneously exciting and alarming. “Well,” he says. “I did consider that possibility.” 

April raises her eyebrows, annoyed now. “What, and ruled it out?” 

“Do you want to?” he says, brown eyes wide and intent. 

“Kiss you?” She throws up her hands, torn between affection and exasperation. “Sure. Do _you_?” 

He leans forward, and _oh_. The kiss is light and tentative, lips sliding together, feeling things out, but it’s enough to make her irritation melt away. 

“I’m sorry,” Donnie says a moment later. 

He’s hardly moved back at all. Their faces are only a few inches apart, so she can feel the warmth of his breath when he speaks. “Sorry for what?” 

His mouth twists into a grimace. “For the insulting and condescending parts?” 

She kisses him, this time, because she wants to make that expression disappear from his face. This kiss is warmer, fits better, lasts longer. “Apology accepted,” April whispers. “Don’t do it again. I know what I want, and what I’m doing.” 

Donnie nods, and says, just as softly, “Can I ask you a question?” 

“Whatever you want.” She sits back slightly, to give him room to speak. 

“I can’t help wondering,” he says, and now she can feel his emotions spilling out like high water over a dam: longing and confusion and a thread of incredulity. “Why now? I mean, we’ve known each other for years. What... what changed?” 

April tucks her feet up under her and leans back on her heels, to give this question the attention it deserves. She’s wondered this herself. She’s picked the question over for months. “I can’t tell you when things changed,” she says slowly. “I don’t know myself. I realized things were different when I was in London.” 

“In London?” Donnie sounds startled. 

April looks up at him and smiles. “Yeah. I had to leave to realize that I’d been stupid for years. And I realized how much I missed you, and that I missed everyone, but I missed you _differently_.” 

Donnie’s shaking his head. “You’re not stupid. You’ve never been stupid.” 

“Oblivious, then,” she says. “I didn’t see what was right in front of me, for years. You’re my best friend, and I want to see if we can be more than that.” 

When he leans forward to kiss her, he’s not so tentative any more, and April can wind her arms around his neck and lean into him in return. “London,” Donnie says when he breaks off a little while later, and April grins at the way his mind keeps turning. “So when you came back to New York—” 

“I wanted to try,” she says. “I decided I didn’t care about having some high-flying research career if I didn’t have you.” 

He flinches, shoulders hunching, self-recrimination washing over his thoughts like ash. “And I screwed it all up, didn’t I?” 

“No,” she says firmly, and plants a kiss on his forehead above and between his eyes. “Nope.” Another, on the end of his nose. “I was mad at you, yeah. But I could have gotten my act together and said something any time in the last few months. Shepard—” she breaks off and swallows a sigh. “Shepard even said I should.” 

Donnie blinks. “You talked to Shepard? About... this?” 

April shrugs one shoulder. “She guessed, back when she was visiting. But I wanted to wait. I had a lot of dumb reasons. I wanted to prove to you it wasn’t a bad idea for me to come back. I was afraid you didn’t feel the same way, and I’d work myself up only to get rejected. I even decided I’d wait until after Christmas, so I wouldn’t make things weird over the holidays. But now... I don’t want to waste time any more.” 

He kisses her. He’s starting to get good at it. It fills April with bright, bottomless hope. If it’s getting this good already, what kind of potential stretches ahead of them? She slides her tongue along his lips, and is rewarded with a quiet noise, almost a moan, that makes her insides flutter. 

“So... do you want to try? This? Us? Being a couple?” she murmurs, leaning her forehead against his. She knows the answer already, though. Donnie wouldn’t ever go this far unless he wanted to try, too, unless he felt the same after all. 

“Yeah,” he breathes. “I just... I’ve always loved you, April, but I didn’t think you’d ever feel this way.” And he still doesn’t quite believe it, or doesn’t quite _dare_ to believe it. She can taste the shy disbelief running through the happiness in his mind, without even trying to pry, and there’s still a certain tension in his frame. 

Words are well and good. These were words they needed to say and hear. But she needs to show him, too, so in the next kiss, she tries to pour out that pent-up feeling through her lips and tongue, tries to smooth out the tension in his neck and shoulders with her hands. And revels, a little bit, in the feel of it. It’s not as if they’ve never touched before. It’s not even unusual. But it’s never been like this, with him rocking back on his shell so she ends up half-sprawled over his chest, with his skin warming at her touch, with his hands starting—finally—to explore gently down her spine, along her sides. She can allow herself to take pleasure in the vibrancy of his freckled green skin, in the solidity of the muscle under her hands, the firm feeling of his plastron against her body. She can let desire waken until she’s flushed and breathless, and somebody’s stomach growls loudly. 

She starts laughing, helplessly, dropping her head to Donnie’s shoulder. “I think that was me,” Donnie says, sounding like he’s choking back a laugh too. 

“It might have been me,” April admits, still shaking with laughter, and pushes back so she can wipe her eyes. She likes what she sees, though. He’s warm and smiling and a little flushed himself, and his mask is slightly askew. “I’d even planned on making dinner, but right now—” 

“How about we order in?” Donnie suggests. 

April smiles back. “Yeah. Let’s do that.” 

# 

They order Indian food. For once Donnie doesn’t heave to squabble with his brothers about what they’re getting. That’s always a plus. 

Even better, though, is the fact that April sits next to him once she’s sent the order in, close enough that their thighs and shoulders touch, and leans against him with a sigh. Her hair is warm and tickles as it falls over his shoulder. 

It’s not unusual for them to sit together, but this is different, more charged. A few days, a few kisses, and one conversation, and everything is different. They fit together here. Donnie’s used to being side by side with April, but it still feels different when she leans against his shoulder and wraps her fingers loosely around his, like it doesn’t matter how different their hands are, in size and shape and texture. Soon enough, she’s kissing him again. _They’re_ kissing again. He’s actually lost count. It was three, and now it’s more, and he lost count around six or seven. Distracted by how warm April is, how slim and strong, and how she smells pleasantly of citrus body wash. 

When the door buzzer sounds, they break apart reluctantly. Over the samosas and chicken tikka, they talk. About the shuttle trip, about how the Citadel looks, about April’s job, about how the rest of the family was while she was away. All ordinary stuff, perfectly normal, but it’s just the two of them, and now he knows what it feels like to kiss her. 

The next time he kisses her, when they’ve cleared away the empty food cartons, she tastes like cumin and cardamom. She looks up at him, her eyes half closed, and her hair falling across her forehead, and says, “Do you want to stay the night?” 

“Um.” Donnie’s brain momentarily comes to a screeching halt. If there’s an invitation there beyond just spending the night on the couch, which he’s done before, the idea fills him with excitement, but also a nervousness that’s close to dread. It feels fast. Four days ago he thought April was nothing more than his friend; when he left the lair tonight he wasn’t sure what was going to happen. 

“We don’t have to do anything,” April adds, probably sensing his sudden confused paralysis. “We can just do this. Or watch a movie. Or you can head on home, it’s fine. I just thought I’d ask.” 

He watches her for a moment, scrutinizing her face for some hidden hurt or worry, but she looks nothing more than quizzical. So he tries, instead, to think, and rapidly comes to one conclusion. “That depends,” he says. “Do we want everyone else to know?” 

April’s eyebrows rise, disappearing under her hair. “Do you?” 

Donnie has to think it over. “I don’t know,” he says finally, and reaches out to brush the hair away from her eyes, shyly. April doesn’t seem to mind the touch; actually, she smiles back. He thinks back to the lair, and how things are just starting to go back to something like normal. “I, um... I don’t know if it’s the right time.” 

April nods. “Yeah,” she sighs. “I know, the timing feels really weird. I mean, I just got back from a funeral. But I didn’t want to wait any longer.” 

“I’m glad you didn’t wait,” Donnie says. He can’t regret how content he feels to lie here with April’s arms around him. “But... I think I’d rather keep this between us for now.” He doesn’t expect to be able to keep a secret in his family for very long. “And, um. Take things slow.” 

“Do you want to go home, then?” April asks. “If you want to stay, you could always just say that it’s freezing, which is true.” 

Donnie contemplates, on the one hand, the frigid January night, and on the other, the warmth of April’s apartment. It’s not much of a contest. 

Leo completely understands, when Donnie calls, and says to say hi to April. Donnie would almost feel guilty about it, except that he wasn’t actually lying. 

They do put on a movie, after a while. Donnie hardly even registers what it is, too busy noticing April’s weight leaning against him, and the feel of the flyaway strands of hair that brush against his skin. Only an hour later, April starts yawning. 

“Tired?” Donnie asks, nudging her gently. 

“Guess I’m still jetlagged,” she says, leaning more heavily into his side. Almost snuggling, really. 

“Maybe you should turn in?” he suggests. 

“Maybe _we_ should turn in,” April says. 

April’s bed is big enough for two, and the mattress isn’t as supportive as Donnie’s own, but it’ll do. Still, he finds himself staring into the dark once the lights are out, hyper-aware of the slight weight in the bed beside him, and the scent of April’s hair. 

She pokes him with an elbow. “Go to sleep. I can feel you lying there staring.” 

“I’m not staring at you,” Donnie protests.

She pokes him again, and then rolls over and puts her head on his shoulder, flopping her weight over his right arm. “You can if you want to,” she says. “But you’re stiff as board over there. Relax.” 

“I’ll try,” Donnie says, and tentatively reaches across with the arm she hasn’t pinned to run his fingers over her hair. 

April makes a pleased, grumbly sort of noise and nestles further into the bed, sliding her arm across his plastron. Within moments, her breathing evens out. The soft, regular noise of her breath, the warmth of her body, and the softness of the bed all combine, comfortable and lulling, and gradually Donnie finds his eyelids growing heavy. 

The last thing he thinks is _I could get used to this_.


End file.
